The Sacco Gang Read online

  The whole affair, however, is fated to end up a farce.

  Indeed, at the hour in which Catalano claims to have seen Girolamo Sacco at Ariosto’s house, Girolamo was at Girgenti Prison talking with his brother Salvatore, who had just been arrested.

  Worse yet, on the evening of the murder, Vincenzo Ariosto was in the office of the Assistant Commissioner of Police Giannitrapani, having brought a nephew of his there to turn himself in!

  *

  For the Saccos it’s clear that behind all these maneuvers against them lurks the real brains of the Raffadalese Mafia, the highly intelligent and powerful lawyer, C.

  He’s the one who decides whom they have to pay, who determines the amounts, who studies the strategies to take—that is, whom to kill and whom not to kill, whose house to burn down, whom to send one last warning.

  But he’s able to remain in the shadows, and never comes out into the open, even though everyone in town knows that the mafiosi do what he tells them to do.

  When Attorney C. wants to go from Raffadali to his country domains, he always travels in a small two-seater carriage, a tilbury the Sicilians call a scappacavallo, which he drives himself.

  One day, some time after lunch, the lawyer is on his way back into town, alone. He’s running late, and for this reason has the whip in his hand, every so often trying to lash the horse to run.

  At a certain point, while raising the whip before bringing it down on the horse’s haunches, he hears a gunshot behind a clump of weeds at the side of the road.

  With pinpoint accuracy, the shot snaps the whip in two, leaving only the grip in his hand.

  He doesn’t even have time to realize what is happening when a second shot, as precise as the first, takes his hat off.

  Scared to death, and without waiting for the third shot, the one that will take his life, he starts shouting like a madman, inciting the horses to run faster.

  Returning home safe and sound, the lawyer locks himself inside. He has understood the warning.

  But he can’t stay holed up at home forever, telling everyone he feels a little indisposed.

  Sooner or later he’ll have to come back out to attend to business.

  And Vanni Sacco will be waiting for him.

  One morning, just before dawn, the lawyer goes cautiously out of his house, looks around, takes one step, and nothing happens.

  The follow day he does the same, with the same results, to the point that he feels like going out into the square.

  A week later, he resumes his usual life, with his usual arrogance.

  He doesn’t know that Vanni is toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.

  One afternoon, he brings together some ten mafiosi at his country house, to decide how to resolve the Sacco problem.

  At nightfall, after the meeting has ended and three or four mounted mafiosi await him to escort him back into town, and the lawyer is locking the door, a series of rifle shots in extremely rapid succession etch his silhouette into the wooden door.

  As the lawyer faints and falls to the ground, the mafiosi start firing, but in vain. They have no target and merely make a lot of noise, because the gunman is already gone.

  Returning home to Raffadali more dead than alive, the lawyer buries himself in his house. He will only come back out after the Sacco brothers are caught.

  But he has lost all his prestige and power.

  By this point, Vanni, Alfonso, and Salvatore seem uncatchable.

  The townsfolk, tickled and happy at their newfound peace with the Mafia now gone, help them in every way they can.

  Not just the little people and the peasants, but even some of the “gentlemen” who used to pay the Mafia large sums of money.

  The order, however, is that the Saccos must be taken, dead or alive.

  Among other reasons because at this point there are some people going around saying, in this era of the March on Rome, that if all Socialists had taken action like the Sacco brothers, the Fascists would never have risen to power.

  X

  THE IRON PREFECT

  Meanwhile, in 1924, Prefect Cesare Mori arrives in Sicily with precise orders from Benito Mussolini, the head of the government since 1922, to exterminate the Mafia.

  This raises two questions:

  Why has Mussolini decided to fight the Mafia?

  And who is Cesare Mori, whom the newspapers will soon be calling “the Iron Prefect”?

  *

  Mussolini was led to conduct his ferocious anti-Mafia campaign for two reasons: one personal, and one involving considerations of political and economic power. It certainly was not out of a desire to abolish a system that inflicted severe damage on the social fabric of Sicily.

  Politically speaking, when Fascism took power, the majority of the Mafia found itself aligned with the free-market followers of V.E. Orlando, who, in a speech given at the Teatro Massimo of Palermo in 1924, had gone so far as to proclaim proudly: “I declare myself a mafioso too!”

  A minority, however, aligned themselves with the Fascists. When he became a deputy in Parliament, a famous oculist by the name of Alfredo Cucco, a former nationalist who was said to be in cahoots with the Mafia, actually became a member of the very exclusive Directory of the National Fascist Party.

  During his trip to Sicily in 1924, Mussolini was publicly insulted by a powerful Mafia boss by the name of Ciccio Cuccìa—an “unspeakable” man, by Mussolini’s own definition, and mayor of Piana dei Greci—and none of the authorities present had the courage to protest.

  The episode is worth retelling.

  After visiting Palermo, Mussolini felt like seeing a few provincial towns, including Piana dei Greci (today known as Piana degli Albanesi).

  Prefect Cesare Mori, knowing that the peasants of Piana had strong Socialist traditions and that, on top of this, the town was governed by a mafioso, had Mussolini escorted by some twenty police officers on motorcycles.

  When Ciccio Cuccìa went down into the square to greet the head of the government and found himself surrounded by a great many policemen, he said to the Duce, loud enough for the citizens crowding the square to hear:

  “What’s up with all the cops, your Excellency? When you’re with me you got nothin’ to fear, sir, ’cause I give the orders around here.”

  Then turning to the crowd, he said:

  “Nobody touch a hair on Mussolini’s head, ’cause he’s my friend, and he’s the best man in the world.”

  Mussolini turned green with rage.

  During that journey, he also realized what the mafiosi wanted from him in exchange for their total support: “to leave power in the hands of a few hundred lowlifes,” in his own words.

  And so he granted Prefect Cesare Mori full powers to do as he saw fit.

  *

  Mori, among other things, knew Sicily well.

  He’d already been there just after the War, to put down the riots born of the disappointment of the peasantry, who had been promised, for the umpteenth time—to stoke their patriotic spirits during the conflict—their own lands for cultivation, only to see the promise broken for the umpteenth time.

  Later appointed Prefect of Bologna, he was transferred by the Fascists because he’d sent dozens of them to jail after the terrible violence at Palazzo d’Accursio in 1920.

  The prefect, in short, was someone who wasn’t afraid of anyone.

  And he was as honest a functionary as he was ruthless.

  Mussolini sent him back to Sicily with vast powers.

  Mori fought the Mafia by using the exact same methods as them, and by having at his disposal the Carabinieri, the police, special forces who answered only to him, and even certain sectors of the army.

  “Under the pretext of fighting the Mafia, they set aside general principles of law, as well as constitutional guarantees under the Albertine Statute, the o
bservation of habeas corpus for all citizens, criminal trial safeguards, and the correct application of the very statutes concerning law enforcement. Whole organs of the government, with the excuse of enforcing the law, made no bones about operating outside the law and even against the law [ . . . ]. They would organize veritable raids to execute arrest warrants [ . . . ] In a few cases, they even went so far as to besiege a whole town (the classic example being Gangi sulle Madonie) using not only the police but the army. Then, in a more general way, if they couldn’t get their hands on the alleged mafiosi, they would arrest their family members—the father, a brother, sometimes even the mother or wife—to force the fugitive or fugitives to turn themselves in. [ . . . ] [T]he barbarous, illegal recourse to torture, using the cassetta4 or other instruments of refined, sadistic cruelty, was not infrequent.” (F. Renda, Storia della Sicilia dal 1860 al 1970, vol. II, Palermo 1985.)

  A dictatorship can allow itself such things, and more.

  *

  Mori brought down such important figures of Sicilian Fascism as Alfredo Cucco and General De Giorgi, and imprisoned historic Mafia bosses such as Vito Cascio Ferro, Calogero Vizzini, and Genco Russo.

  And hundreds of other mafiosi began to crowd the jails along with them.

  Apparently Fascism defeated the Mafia by imposing not the law as it stood, but the law of terror.

  But how is it, then, that as soon as Fascism fell, the Mafia came back stronger and more powerful than ever?

  Writes Denis Mack Smith (with Moses Finley, A History of Sicily, 1968):

  “If the Mafia had been a society rather than a way of living, perhaps Mori could have killed it for all time, but in fact its complicated social and economic causes could not be removed in this brief period or by these methods alone. Perhaps there was insufficient wish among certain people for more than a surface victory of prestige; and Vizzini and Russo were later released for ‘lack of proof.’”

  The classic lack of evidence, always conveniently used by judges both in democracy and under Fascism.

  The prefect, moreover, had also started to annoy the Sicilian nobility, which owned the vast landed estates on which the Mafia was born and grazed. The prefect was convinced that there was some kind of arrangement between the big landowners and their mafioso overseers.

  As soon as he began to make his first moves in this direction, however, he was recalled to Rome, and his career came to a halt.

  The same Alfredo Cucco got his name in the papers again around 1940, mostly as the author of a book in which he claimed that coitus interruptus makes you go blind.

  At any rate, for the first two years, Mori took little or no interest in the Raffadalese Mafia.

  Maybe because he knew that there was already someone taking care of it.

  4A torture method whereby a tube is thrust down the victim’s throat and filled with salt water. (t.n.)

  XI

  THE FIRST ATTEMPT AT CAPTURE

  When Mori finally decides to turn his attentions to the Raffadali Mafia, it makes the Sacco brothers’ life much more difficult than before.

  The prefect has let it be known that he has no problem turning a blind eye, and maybe even two, on anyone who, in exchange for avoiding arrest, is willing to spy and report on others.

  And there are still a great many many lowlifes, low-ranking mafiosi, and friends of mafiosi around, all quite capable of selling out the Saccos in order to gain some favor in the eyes of the law.

  Now the Saccos even have to beware of their own shadows.

  They can no longer trust anyone.

  Defying the risk of running into a patrol of the Carabinieri or special forces now teeming everywhere in and around Raffadali, Vanni and Alfonso one day are forced, by necessity, to go into town to attend to some business.

  Economically speaking, they’re in a pretty bad way, having had to sell most of their properties. Living as fugitives, and paying lawyers, is costly.

  Being, of course, unable to go anywhere near their houses—which are under police surveillance night and day—they find shelter in a secluded cottage just outside of town and belonging to their old friend and comrade, Filippo Marzullo.

  They are, as usual, armed to the teeth.

  But shortly after their arrival, the cottage is suddenly surrounded by some ten carabinieri under the command of a Sergeant Jannuzzo, who knows the Saccos well because he’s been part of the Raffadali garrison for years.

  Someone saw them entering that cottage and went and snitched on them. Someone who wanted to gain from having had the Saccos arrested.

  Sergeant Jannuzzo orders his men not to move for any reason, and not to shoot for any reason.

  Then, coming out into the open, he walks over to the clearing in front of the little house, calls Vanni’s name, and, as soon as he realizes the latter is listening behind the closed shutters, he asks:

  “Would you let me in, Vanni? I only want to talk to you. After all, you know as well as I do that you won’t shoot me.”

  So saying, he lowers his carbine, takes out his revolver, and sets both down on the ground.

  Ever so slowly, the door to the house opens, and the sergeant goes inside.

  Meanwhile, news of the brothers’ imminent capture has already spread all across Raffadali, in the twinkling of an eye. Dozens of townsfolk start running towards the house, and when they get there, the municipal cops have trouble keeping them at bay.

  Inside, the sergeant has offered the two brothers cigarettes, and Vanni has returned the favor with a glass of wine.

  All three are sitting calmly around a table, like friends resting after a hunting party.

  The brothers’ rifles are propped up in a corner.

  “You have done what you felt it was your duty to do. You have avenged your father. But now the game must end. You have never shot at us, but if you continue to flee from justice, sooner or later your situation will worsen. This is inevitable. In order to avoid being caught, you will have to return our fire. And you may end up killing one of our men, at which point none of you will come out alive.”

  This, in so many words, is the argument the sergeant makes to them.

  The logic is not only ironclad, but it touches on a sore point the Sacco brothers have been nursing for a while, even though they have never discussed it among themselves.

  They’ve long sensed that the accursed day would eventually come when they’d have to make a choice: either shoot at the forces of order and in so doing become the criminals they’ve never been, or put their hands up and surrender.

  That day has now come.

  In fact, after less than an hour’s discussion Vanni and Alfonso agree with the sergeant that there’s no longer any way out for them.

  And so they give themselves up to the Carabinieri.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” says Jannuzzo.

  “Will you handcuff us?” Vanni asks pointedly.

  “I have no choice.”

  Vanni thinks about this for a moment.

  “Isn’t there another way to do it?”

  “What would that be?”

  “You leave a guard of two carabinieri outside here. That way you’re assured we can’t escape. This evening, after it gets dark and there are no people on the roads, Alfonso and I will come, one at a time, and turn ourselves in at the station. We don’t want to suffer the humiliation of walking through the streets of town in handcuffs.”

  The sergeant knows that the Saccos have never, for any reason, failed to keep their word. So he asks:

  “Do you give me your word of honor?”

  They do.

  “All right, then, it’s a deal,” Jannuzzo concludes, standing up.

  But Vanni turns and asks him a favor.

  “Could you please let our aunt, Zia Grazia, know that we’re here? And could you tell your men to let her through?
If we’re going to end up in jail, we’ll need to talk to her.”

  Zia Grazia is the sister of the Saccos’ mother. The brothers want to give her full power of attorney, since they’ll be heading to prison.

  The sergeant sends one of his men to get the Saccos’ aunt and goes back to the compound with the rest of his squad, after sending away the crowd of townsfolk. As agreed, he leaves only two carabinieri on guard.

  A short while later, he receives a visit from the Fascist political secretary of the town. The man is hopping mad at the sergeant, foaming at the mouth and pounding his fist on the table.

  “Why didn’t you arrest them? It was your duty to arrest them on the spot! I’m going to report you to your superiors! I’ll send you to jail along with the Saccos!”

  “Watch what you say!”

  “You’re their accomplice!”

  Getting fed up, the sergeant threatens to throw the secretary, Fascist or not, into a holding cell.

  The man pretends to calm down.

  The sergeant then explains to him the agreement he made with the Saccos and says he’s more than certain that they will keep their word.

  But the political secretary wants instead a clamorous arrest with great pomp and drama; he wants to march the brothers past the whole population in handcuffs and make them objects of public scorn.

  “We must make an example of them! We can’t be granting privileges to common brigands who dare to flout the Fascist order!”

  But the sergeant won’t budge from his position. He, too, in a way, gave his word of honor to the Saccos.

  Threatening reprisals and punishment, the political secretary leaves the compound, and from the local Casa del Fascio5 he immediately rings Mori’s headquarters in Palermo.

  From Palermo, someone at headquarters rings the Raffadali Carabinieri compound in turn: the operation to arrest the Saccos must be immediately resumed, and Sergeant Jannuzzo will be replaced by a marshal at the head of a special forces unit sent from the provincial capital, Girgenti.